Love isn't real.
It's an endless thought of what is expected.
To be or not to be.
To want you and then one day not.
Love is temporary.
Portrayed with a mask
Until the mask no longer fits the theme.
Yet you put it on a shelf, as a memory.
The mask sits waiting,
Collecting dust as it waits for its next use.
Waiting for something to come that won't. Thinking was it even a true face.
Or just a mask that was taken off.
For what's seen is not what was once known.
As a different mask is placed.
Will it be temporary or one size fits all?
The one with dust falls and is forgotten.
Still waiting for the one to come back.
Or even a new face to wear it.
Yet it's lost and forgotten.
Forever a memory, collecting dust.
Still waiting for its next turn.